


The Curious Case of the Doctor and the Detective

by Blue Rose (Grovehove)



Category: Sherlock (TV), The Sentinel
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sentinels and Guides Are Known, BAMF Mary Morstan, BAMF Molly Hooper, F/M, Female Sentinels kick ass., Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Little Black Dress, M/M, Multi, Psychological Torture, Sentinel/Guide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-31
Updated: 2016-07-31
Packaged: 2018-07-28 13:11:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7641754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grovehove/pseuds/Blue%20Rose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg Lestrade was too old for this shit. He had finally been declared Omega,  a formal excommunication from the S&G community, and he couldn't be happier, except for the fact John and Sherlock  are even more insane because of Mary's pregnancy, he has to ignore Mycroft's bedroom eyes and now his division has to  deal with a bloody zombie Consulting Criminal as Moriarty has returned from the dead. No pressure!</p><p>Then his world falls apart around him. His tardy Sentinel decides to make their presence known, via a distressed spirit animal no less. Now he has to race against time to rescue the unknown Sentinel who had just come on-line and is obviously still in danger.  When DI Lestrade finds the idiot, and he will find the idiot, his size tens were going to be making contact with a certain baby Sentinel’s arse.</p><p> Seriously, he was too old for this shit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Lestrade was sitting in the living room of 221B watching from the corner of his eye as an oblivious Sherlock paced, muttering to himself whilst his hands waved in the air to emphasise certain points only the curly haired genius Sentinel and royal pain in the arse was aware of. He didn't sigh, he gone past that stage years ago. Now it was mainly amusement.  
  
The policeman was leisurely sipping at the cup of tea John had thrust upon him as soon as Greg had walked through the door. Greg could feel that John was desperate for a distraction. Sherlock had been particularly Sherlockian for weeks now, since that latter day Lazarus (also known as that bastard Moriarty also known as the undead dickhead shitbag wanker also known as that tedious petty miscreant depending on which male member of the Holmes pride was pontificating at the time) had made his spectacular and very public return from the life challenged state a bullet to the brain should have made a certainty.  Or as Greg liked to think of it, “pulled a bloody Sherlock” 

“How’s Mary doing?” he asked John with a genuine smile, John beamed right back at him.

Distraction tactic 101 for John Watson, Guide, Doctor and Army Captain, mention the other love of his life. The pregnant female Sentinel that completed the Holmes-Morstan-Watson Triad.  
The strength of his joy and satisfaction had Greg raising his shields as a precaution. He was on duty damn it, he did not need a second hand dose of guide euphoria to mess with the rest of his working day. Though he was pretty sure that John wouldn't have let it get that far.

The man was just really excited about the pregnancy and amusingly, as the balancing calming Guide of the Triad, he seemed to be suffering from worse mood swings than the pregnant Sentinel herself.

The fact that John was a triad guide, strong enough to handle two of the most reckless sentinel adrenaline junkies that Greg had ever had the (mis)fortune to meet meant he had exceptional levels of control. Previously they had only weakened when John had what he liked to call one of his “bad days”.  On that kind of day, Greg wasn't sure which one of the three of them was the bigger menace.

Now though his mood swings were becoming a little unpredictable, and Greg had thought about mentioning a the option of an SG centre healer, even though he personally wouldn’t go near one even if they offered him lifetime tickets to all of Arsenal’s footy games. But he hadn’t because John was a sensible functioning adult, a medic himself and an ex-soldier used to risk assessment. There was also the fact that even if John was being an arse about it, his two lunatic Sentinels would make sure their Guide was taken care of.

His musings were interrupted by John's answer.

“Well, she’s doing well Greg. Pregnancy seems to agree with her”

“Not that it’s keeping her out of this situation with Moriarty” Sherlock snorted on his third pass around the room. Lestrade was pretty sure that was approval in his tone but John’s face had darkened as the shorter Guide frowned up at his rangy Sentinel who seemed to have discovered the answer to perpetual motion.

“You don’t need to encourage her Sherlock” he retorted angrily. The accompanying glare was enough to spark a fire in a flooded room.

“Encourage? Mary?” the Sentinel raised unimpressed eyebrows “You do know that you are talking about our bonded Sentinel don’t you? The one with the “protect the tribe” imperative that sometimes even out performs Mycroft’s insatiable need to run the world. Do not be any stupider than normal my dear Guide” 

John sprang to his feet and advanced on his unrepentant smirking Sentinel, but before another word was spoken, Lestrade used his Guide voice and not the soothing one. He didn’t need to be smack in the middle of another epic Sherlock v John meltdown. He used the voice that brought his insubordinate subordinates to heel, whether Guide, Sentinel or Mundane with the alacrity of scolded children. 

“Cut it out the pair of you. If you want to indulge in angry Sentinel Guide sex have the decency to wait until I have left. Especially since I’m not getting any Sex at all at the moment. Don’t you dare comment Sherlock! Reinforce your shields John mate, you’re leaking like a bloody sieve. Now we have business to discuss, not least of which is that git Moriarty” 

Greg sat back with a sigh. He looked longingly at the empty tea cup, only this time he could do with something stronger even if he was on duty sod it all. Seriously, sometimes he wondered about his life choices. He had been a damn sight smarter when he was sixteen and had run away to join the circus. At least when he was “Tomato” he had been paid to work with other clowns. Now he had to put up with them voluntarily!

“Lestrade, you could make a fortune using that voice in the Porn Industry via sex audio tapes” Sherlock commented whilst he stepped away from his own irate Guide with a smug and teasing smirk  as he stared down into those smouldering indigo eyes  glaring up at him . 

The Detective Inspector rolled his eyes in long suffering exasperation, then turned with surprise towards the increasingly angry Guide in the room. The jealously that raged out of John at Sherlock’s comment was almost overwhelming.  Before he could even open his mouth to comment, John snapped disdainfully at Greg without taking his eyes off his own Sentinel.

“You are a damn Omega Greg, don’t tell me what to do as a Guide”

The silence was deafening. The pleasant open friendly expression that was standard from the Detective Inspector when he paid them a visit vanished and in its place was the inimical expressionless mask that greeted suspected criminals in the interrogation room.

Shocked, realising what he had just said, John swung around to stare at his seated friend , his eyes wide and shame flushed his cheeks as he stumbled over his words trying to apologise.

The underlying feeling of comforting warmth like a mug of hot chocolate on cold wet day that always emanated from Lestrade once he accepted that person into his unofficial pack had disappeared like the sun in a snow blizzard. John didn’t realise just how much he had relied on that warmth over the years until it was gone. Jesus how could he have lost his temper as easily as a baby guide in training and spat that stupid irrational nastiness at Greg of all people. He didn’t even believe that prejudiced bullshit.   
  
The centuries old status of Omega, whether Sentinel or Guide, had once been an honoured and respected one because they were outside of the formal Pride structure, they were called upon if impartial judges were required and could not be influenced by the normal political concerns of the Pride or Council.  
Widowed Guides and Sentinels, those who had never bonded, or even bonded pairs who had suffered great trauma underwent the Omega ritual to make sure they were committed and truly wanted to remove themselves from mainstream Sentinel and Guide life. It had never been a source of disgrace, in fact it had often been considered a great honour to have a thriving Omega section in any Sentinel and Guide Council or Pride territory yet since Victorian times with their rigid sense of morality, it had become a shameful secret facet, the last resort for disgraced Sentinels and Guides in the minds of the Community and the general mundane public alike.  

“I’m disappointed in you John, I did not realise that you held the same prejudices as those small minded insufferable morons that they churn out by the dozen from the guide training centres these days.” To John’s shock it was Sherlock who responded to that outburst.

He then proceeded to turn his back on his own Guide to offer an endearingly brisk comfort to the blank faced policeman sitting in his living room.

“ Lestrade, I am not going to apologise for my bonded Guide’s behaviour that’s up to him, but please note that I think no less of you for your Omega status, it was a strategically sound and brave decision on your part. Now back to the matter at hand. Moriarty”

There was a slight pause and then Greg surprised himself by chuckling. It was a small sound but the amusement was genuine. Sherlock and his damn broken mould. The lad always entertained and surprised him. Of course Moriarty was more important than a spat between Guides to the singular sentinel genius.

As for John, he could feel the idiot’s shame and regret battering at his empathetic shields and right now he wasn’t having any of it.  
  
Just because John was in a strop with Sherlock and worried about Mary did not mean he could take it out on Greg, so the good Doctor could just suck it up until Greg decided to acknowledge him. The way he was feeling right now, a herd of little pink unicorns redecorating Hell by farting rainbow paint balls had more of a chance of stopping by for a chat with him than Guide Captain Dr John Hamish frigging Watson.

He had dealt with that kind of bullshit prejudice for years, like fuck was he going to take it off John who was supposed to be a good friend.

First he was a poor excuse for a Guide because he couldn’t find his Sentinel, then he was a poor excuse for a Guide because he had fallen in love, married and had kids with a latent Sentinel who finally came online after a car crash and then had run off with his boys and her brand spanking new Guide, the kids bleeding PE Teacher. His bloody Guide status had helped him with the custody case for his boys.  
  
It was the false commiseration “But of course Guide Lestrade, it’s much better for the children to be raised in a fully bonded household” and then the blatant accusation that he was being selfish and a poor excuse for a Guide because he didn’t have a rotating door in his effing bedroom for horny single Sentinels now that his ex-wife was properly bonded and he was single again that was literally the straw that broke the camel’s back. Never mind the bleeding camel, it ensured that the local Pride and Council could go fuck themselves as far as he was concerned. He was a policeman not a fucking SGC prostitute.  
  
When he had expressed that sentiment at length and in increasingly loud terms to the idiot Directors of the London centre, he had found himself ordered for compulsory re-training.  
At least he had been until Lestrade had lit a fire under Mycroft’s arse and the Alpha Prime Sentinel for Europe had gone through the main London centre like a dose of salts on top of an enema compounded by a tummy bug.  There were plenty of SGC officials who had shat themselves that day. 

Mycroft wouldn’t confirm it but Lestrade had heard rumours that the former Directors, an Alpha pair had been sent to the Sandburg Retreat in Alaska to work to keep the husky kennels clean. It appealed to Greg’s sense of justice that they had ended up shovelling physical shit after the crap they had dished out to him! Sometimes, just sometimes Mycroft’s devious kick ass problem solving made him want to have his bloody babies. 

Greg was still resolutely ignoring John’s abject feelings of shame. John was lucky he was just getting the silent treatment, if Gunner his spirit animal had turned up, the otter would have bitten him, and probably got into it with John’s golden retriever Teabag until the mutt retreated with his tail between his legs. His normally friendly little otter turned into a vicious little beggar if he thought someone had hurt Lestrade.

Disquiet crossed his mind for a second, Gunner always dropped in when he was upset, but then Greg was distracted by what seemed to be a flash of wings in his peripheral vision. What?

He shook his head, he must be tired. One last matter and he would head back to the Yard to finish up some paperwork.

“Has anyone spoken to Dr Hooper, Molly about Moriarity’s return?” Sherlock responded before John could even open his mouth.  
" She's at a conference, not due back for another week at least"

 

The monthly budget meeting was tedious enough without having to listen to that damn irritating noise. Lestrade’s headache was getting worse. He’d already downed two painkillers with a gulp of cold tea. He’d even gone so far as to buy a bottle of cold water at the vending machine in case it was dehydration because his bloody eyeballs were drier than Sherlock’s sense of humour and he alternated between feeling cold or sweaty. And that damn itch was driving him scatty. If he was coming down with something he was going to make Gregson suffer, on his sainted Mother’s grave, he would give that plonker such shit.

He would transfer Anderson to the git’s team for a bloody month. Because the moron DI had insisted on working when he had the lurgy, coughing and spluttering over everyone like a demented plague victim. Gregson had singlehandedly raised the department’s short term sickness levels by spreading his germs to everyone else.

Bloody hell that noise was getting worse. He turned his head and glared at his office window. The little offender was still there kicking up a fuss.

“Sally as your closest to the window can you shut that bird up! Shoo it away from the window sill or something. Christ its making a racket. I can barely hear myself think!”

Sally swung her gaze to the window and then stared at her boss in confusion, pushing back a dark curl that had escaped from her plait at the sharp movement.

“What bird Sir? What noise?” she asked in her normal blunt fashion.

Greg raised his head from the paperwork and stared at her with one eyebrow raised “That damn noisy mini owl on the external window sill Sally”.

The disconcerted expression on his Sergeant’s face should have given him enough of a clue but it was only when she stated slowly, after a less than subtle roll of her eyes. “There’s no owl at the window Sir, and I can’t hear anything”, that he understood what was happening.

Bollocks. Bloody Bollocks with bells on. His head began to pound more vigorously and he wanted to break something. He drew a deep breath and didn’t notice when his hand automatically rubbed at the ever present ache in his chest.

Sally’s puzzled hesitation had become a vague concern “Sir?” She had scanned room and window sill once again before she stared at him, her expression and own raised eyebrows demanding an explanation.

Greg’s face was carefully blank as he commented “It must have flown away as I was talking to you. That will be all for now Sergeant” But she didn’t take the hint. She sat and stared at him, he could feel her concern rising and even seeping through his shields. That had not happened in a very long time. His shields were so good everything bounced off them. The added pressure of her emotions was not helping his headache at all. Not to mention the fact that he worked damn hard so that his staff were not reminded of his status every damn day. He really didn’t want to get into the reasons why there was a bloody spirit guide making enough noise to raise the dead and tapping on his bloody window. Sally was a good copper but also an irrepressible gossip. It would be round Scotland Yard faster than the dissipation rate of one of Anderson’s noxious farts. No, not happening.

“It’s okay Sally, go get your lunch and we will reconvene later. “ He needed her out of the office.  The confused mundane nodded her head in acknowledgement and left the office, closing the door softly behind her as if any loud noise might set him off.

It almost took all of his courage to turn to look at the frantic bird pecking at the window pane. He knew it was symbolic, the bird had the ability to appear right on his bloody lap but his Omega status meant the spirit animal had to ask permission to come to him. He presumed that granting permission was in the form of opening the bloody window because the little feathered fiend was making no attempt to materialise inside the room.

Gunner must have decided he was taking too long to do anything because the little shit suddenly appeared on his shoulders and nipped his ear. “If you break the skin you little pest, no more fresh fish for you” Gunner snorted dismissively as he put his paws on Greg’s face and chittered angrily at him. 

“Okay, okay you menace, I get the message. But this better not be what I think it is”. He growled right back at the otter. Gunner’s anger switched to smug amusement within the space of a heartbeat.

Greg turned a stern eye on the bird as he opened the window and it hopped through with a reproachful look on his face as if Greg should have got his act together sooner.

It was the smallest and cutest owl he had ever seen. Brown feathers with flecks of white, big golden eyes and a sweet little beak. It looked like it should be on some toddler’s bed, ready to cuddle whilst napping. But those cute feathers were bedraggled and it hooted softly in distress.

Rage roared through his veins like a flash fire. “Fucking hell. Now, after all these damn years, you turn up you little bugger. I’m nearer fifty than forty, what the hell use to a bloody Sentinel am I now, and if your damn Sentinel thinks I am giving up my job, my bloody life just for the idiot to play hero because sodding sentinel instincts have kicked in then they have a bleeding shock coming. Furthermore my size tens will be connecting with their stubborn less than punctual arse.”

Greg’s rant wound down to silence when his brown otter nipped at his ear in reprimand once again, chittered at him in  a foul temper and then straight up nuzzled the bedraggled ridiculously mini bird of prey in sympathy.

Lestrade glared at the little traitor until he finally took in the finer details of the little bird’s appearance. Poor little beggar looked like it had been really put through the ringer.  
Without a second’s hesitation, his fingers began to smooth those feathers and he tried to soothe the distraught little thing. At the first touch, darkness and a terrible fear flooded his being.

He couldn’t get enough of an impression to see who or where she was but she was so cold and afraid of what was happening to her. His Sentinel needed him. There was something about her that was tantalisingly familiar but it faded when for a second, just a second, she knew he was with her and her joy and relief nearly overwhelmed him. The connection was lost abruptly as he felt her pain levels spike. Fuck his Sentinel wasn’t already online, she was coming online now and in poor shape. Whatever was happening to her was traumatic and terrifying.

His heart rate began to speed up, completely against his will. Rage, fear and a ferocious need to defend and protect nearly took him to his knees. How anyone with any sense thought only Sentinels could go feral he didn’t know. Guides dealt with emotions for the love of God, what did they think would happen? Guides weren’t meek and mild little lambs munching on magic mushrooms and smiling lovingly at everyone they met as portrayed by every pathetic Hollywood film that had ever been made on the subject. Bloody hell, he couldn’t afford to lose it now, becoming feral would not help him find her and would only result in him being locked up. He had to be calm about this and treat it like any other case. 

Lestrade knew he should go through the proper channels at the SGC but the worry suddenly spilling out from his gut removed any inclination to follow procedure. The bastards had given him hell for years about choosing a sentinel, even offering to send him on a fucking world tour because of his supposed potential as an Alpha Guide. Of course they had been polite about it, no overt threats or bully boy tactics just straight up intimidation of the “you are letting your future Sentinel down Guide and what would your Alpha Prime Grandmother think of this behaviour” kind. 

The fact that his Grand’Mere Beatrice would have clapped her hands in delight when he finally declared himself Omega because even now with the more restrictive laws in place, they didn’t dare touch that particular Guide right would not have been believed. That wickedly independent Guide and feminist had been her Alpha Prime Sentinels equal partner for Christ sake and had told her youngest Grandson and latent guide all about the Guide get out clauses.  Guides had rights too and no one ever tried to dispute that with his Grand’Mere when she was active because she would have flayed them alive with her tongue and then sicced Grandpere Reynard the Sentinel Alpha Prime on what was left of them. Guide rights were the ones the SGA conveniently forgot to mention in the most common training classes he had taken. He wasn’t sure if things were better now but views were still entrenched in traditional establishments.

So damn protocol, for now at least. There had to be some benefit to being the bloody pet policeman for the bloody Holmes brothers. He smiled viciously. Whoever had been moronic enough to hurt Gregory Lestrade’s Sentinel was going to regret it for the rest of their unnaturally short lives.

He watched Gunner his otter comfort the wee thing as he pulled out his personal mobile phone and pressed a button.

“Gregory my dear, how nice to hear from you” Mycroft’s smooth tones seemed to ease the fear and fury that had been spreading through his veins.  
  
That Alpha Prime Sentinel should have been a Guide. Lestrade would be willing to bet that the man had actually chosen which one on the Sentinel Guide spectrum he was going to be on the basis of the most appropriate abilities that would suit his ambitions. Mother Nature herself did not have a snowball’s chance in hell of besting Mycroft Holmes when he truly wanted something. He would have been a gloriously terrifying Guide. He was manipulative enough as a Sentinel.

“My Sentinel is in danger Mycroft” Greg blurted out without preamble. There was a disconcerted pause then he could actually feel Mycroft Holmes switch gears from suave imperturbable politician to the Sentinel strategist extraordinaire that ruled the Sentinel and Guide Council nominally for the United Kingdom but in fact was the defacto Head of the European Council.

“I was not aware that you had a Sentinel partner Gregory”, the slight wistful tone was nearly lost underneath the sharp question. Greg winced, it was an old sore spot between them that reared its head at the oddest moments.

Sherlock’s shenanigans at bloody Baskerville being a case in point. Mutual attraction had nearly overridden their professional good sense, even though both knew they were not each other’s destined partner.

It was Greg who had unwillingly pulled them back from the brink. He’d been there and done that with his ex-wife.  He was so done dealing with that kind of emotional fallout even though Mycroft the sexy little shit pushed all the right buttons for him.

Lestrade had thought they were long past the “will we won’t we” nonsense especially when he had finally got Mycroft to agree to declare him Omega. An Omega Guide. Outside the tribe, no longer subject to the pressures of the SGC and their stupid belief that any Guide was better than none for struggling single Sentinels.

Towards the end the bureaucratic bastards had been trying to pair him up with teenagers for fuck sake. As if a teenage sentinel was worth more to their society than a Detective Inspector with over twenty five years’ experience and the best effing clear up rate (even without Sherlock) in the damn Met. 

“I don’t, I mean I didn’t, I mean, fuck Myc her spirit animal just turned up in a right state. I need to find her. She’s so afraid Myc, she’s in pain. Christ I need…”  Greg couldn’t even relay the facts without babbling like a terrified kid. What the hell? He was a senior officer of the police force. He was a middle aged man who dealt with Sherlock Holmes on a regular basis and didn’t lose his bloody cool. 

Mycroft’s firm but surprisingly kind voice interrupted him. “Guide Lestrade calm yourself. We will find your Sentinel”

The mild scolding and shock of hearing the title Guide once more pulled him out of the incipient panic. His cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Jesus wept he was too fucking old for this lark. He would find the Sentinel in distress and then everything would go back to normal, he would make sure of it.

“From the beginning Gregory, every detail, leave nothing out then I will ensure the SGC data banks are searched and every Sentinel with that spirit animal is contacted to ascertain their safety”

Despair filled Greg as he almost whispered "Mycroft, she's coming on line now, she won't be registered with her spirit animal".

"Then we will search the latent registry, utilise the talents of my baby brother and treat this as any other high priority missing persons case with the added imperative from the SGC with my personal unremitting involvement until we find her" came the reassuringly implacable vow.


	2. Chapter 2

Cold, she was so cold, so very, very, cold. Had she ever been warm? Her blood felt sluggish, as if tiny pieces of ice were floating through her veins slowing everything down. The shivering wouldn’t stop. It was compulsive now. Her jaw ached because her teeth were chattering. Even the saliva in her mouth was turning to ice. She would never be warm again. 

Her eardrums were bleeding from the sounds battering at her consciousness, the roar of both water and air. Foul tainted chemical air that burned its way through her nostrils, down her throat into her gasping lungs and made her want to gag repeatedly with the bitter after taste of chlorine.

Instinct told her vomiting in this space would be dangerous so she managed to control it barely. She could control nothing else. Her hands were taped together, and her skin was burning underneath the tape. She could feel her skin distort as the burning raised tiny welts, and the rash was spreading over her skin from the point of origin like a tide of fire ants. The material against her skin hurt. Hurt so much. She was only wearing her bra and pants but the lace scratched at her tender skin.  

She had tried to stretch her legs but they met resistance on each side within inches of her original position. She had tried to raise her knees but within inches yet again they had jarred against something hard covering her. She had raised her bound hands and felt as far around her head and shoulders as possible. Cold condensation had met her skin on the hard material. She was enclosed. In a small space. She couldn't think about it.

She hadn’t opened her eyes, she had been too afraid. She knew she was in a box but if she opened her eyes it would be real, not a nightmare. It had to be a nightmare and panic made her take another gulp of the disgusting tainted air. 

The sound of water battering against the walls that enclosed her was terrifying. She wasn’t going to think about it, she wasn’t going to acknowledge it. She was a rational scientist but if she let her brain work it out, if she actually and truly came to the conclusion that was hanging over her like the Sword of Damocles, she would go insane.  

A lilting voice broke through her terror and she focused on it, blocking out the inexorable sound of the wet slap, slap, slap, slap that tortured her mind. 

“Molly, Molly, my sweet Molly, are you back in the land of the living yet darling?” the words were sung to the tune of Molly Malone. The voice sniggered, “Well land of the living might be a bit optimistic Molls, but you are still alive for now at least” 

The intake of shocked breath burned her lungs and she coughed like a victim of consumption. Dear God she recognised that voice and it wasn’t possible, it couldn’t be possible. He was dead. She had autopsied his body herself. The bullet hole in his brain had not been her imagination, nor had removing said brain, checking the contents of his stomach for his last meal and any drugs or having his blood work done until Mycroft Holmes was satisfied he knew everything there was to know about the physical last moment of the life of one James Moriarty, psychotic genius and criminal mastermind.

The fact that privately she thought it was Mycroft’s revenge for the horror and distress the psychopath had caused, but especially to his baby brother was ignored as she had done her duty. But she was pretty damn sure that Holmes Senior had the actual bullet that blew James Moriarty’s brains into sludge in a private display cabinet. 

At Molly’s slow response, the jolly sing song voice became harder “Now Molly darlin’, you don’t want to make me angry because I do naughty things when I’m angry, like say stop the air pump in your little glass box”.  There was a click and suddenly the air flow stopped, no more foul taint of chlorine, but also no more oxygen. Molly began to breath faster as her lungs chased what was available. Panic nearly overwhelmed her when she heard the click again and the flow of air was resumed.  

She still hadn’t opened her eyes, she couldn’t open her eyes. She would go insane if she opened her eyes. Tears began to leak from beneath her closed eyelids. 

“Aw Sweet Molly, don’t cry, well not yet anyway. You are only here until Sherly finds you. You trust Sherlock don’t you lovely, after all you helped him escape from my plans. You helped him nearly destroy everything I had worked for Sweet Molly and that’s made me a bit cross. So now the game is on again, I don’t want you to play, you have to forfeit. Let’s just hope Sherly isn’t too tied up with that fearsome little guide and their pregnant Sentinel. Seriously Molly I didn't think that cold fish had it in him to be part of something so kinky with a bonded pair, especially since he turned me down. I'm hurt Molly, I'm hurt. So I did consider using darling Mary for this you know but decided it was overkill for my opening move in our new game.“ 

Molly listened to the words in horror. He was utterly insane.

 “Now one last thing before I have to leave you Sweet Molly, open your eyes for me because if you don’t it means you don’t want to play and I will just have to turn the pump off and find someone else who will”. There was no doubt he meant every word. 

Molly opened her eyes, despite the odd low light, she winced as pain streaked through her nerve endings. Once she could focus, she knew where she was. It was a familiar view to a regular swimmer. The blue tiles on the side and bottom of the ubiquitous swimming pool, the way the light defused through the water as it neared the bottom.  

She could see it all as she lay incarcerated in the transparent box at the bottom of the pool, listening to the air being pumped into the enclosed sealed space, the pump which was the only thing keeping her alive. 

“Oh Sweet Molly, if you could only see the look on your face” the lilting voice chuckled in her ear before she opened her mouth and she screamed and screamed and screamed.

 

“Sherlock, have you been into 221C again?” Mrs Hudson’s scolding voice broke through the tense atmosphere between the two brothers. 

Sherlock snapped at her without looking “For god’s sake woman can’t you see we’re busy” 

Mrs Hudson glared at him “Don’t you take your bad temper out on me young man, I am your landlady not your housekeeper. It’s a simple question, have you been downstairs because if not, I am reporting a break in to the Police.” She snapped back at him, long years of dealing with his behaviour in her long suffering tone. 

“Break in Mrs H?”  Lestrade asked wearily, why was it that those two could never play nice with each other? He needed their help not their bloody tantrums. If he had to listen to Sherlock smart mouth Mycroft one more time or vice a versa, he was going to lock the pair of them up or hit the booze. Mrs Hudson’s problem would be a distraction until his patience came back or those two actually turned in adults. Actually he didn’t think he would live long enough to see them become adults. Waiting for his patience to reappear it was then. 

“Want to show me what the problem is Mrs Hudson?” He smiled tiredly at her. She flashed him a shrewd glance “Sorry Greg love, didn’t see you there. Come with me” 

Lestrade looked at Mrs Hudson as the front door to 221C swung open at his gentle push. She looked worried “It was like that when I found it” 

“Okay love, let me go first and stay here until I tell you it’s okay to come in” Greg smiled reassuringly at her, then moved forward with all the professionalism of years of experience. 

He couldn’t sense anyone else in the small flat, but he wasn’t taking any chances with Mrs H safety. He moved into the small empty front room. It looked like it hadn’t been entered since the last time they were there when they had found the pair of trainers in the middle of the room. One of Moriarty's stupid games.  Exactly like the one that was placed so carefully there now… 

“Sherlock” he roared loudly, making Mrs Hudson jump “get your arse down here now” 

He ignored the thunder of three sets of footsteps racing down the stairs as he moved towards the damn piece of footwear. Not exactly the same then because there was an old fashioned Dictaphone sitting pretty inside the trainer. He pulled out a handkerchief and his smart phone. He needed pictures before he moved any of the evidence but something was telling he didn’t have time to call his team in. Just as he had snapped the first picture, Sherlock swept past him and picked up the device.   
“Damn it Sherlock, evidence trail, you bloody know better” Lestrade growled at him. Sherlock raised one brow and pressed the play button like a scowling defiant child. 

As the sound of her screaming rang through the room, Lestrade’s eyes rolled to the back of his head and he was unconscious before he hit the ground. 

Lestrade came too with his head pillowed on Mycroft’s lap. Mycroft Holmes in his immaculate suit that probably cost more than six months of Greg’s pay was sitting on the dusty old carpet of the empty flat, holding onto him as if he was the most precious piece of porcelain. Sentinels and their urge to protect and succour guides. He could even feel Sherlock hovering worriedly behind him, not that the stubborn git would admit it, but Lestrade’s empathic senses were blown wide open at the moment. 

Fucking hell his Sentinel was so scared. So bloody scared. He had to find her, he had to. The rage and fear within was rising uncontrollably until he felt John’s shields surround him to offer comfort and restraint. Lestrade took a deep breath, he could think properly again. His determination grew when he saw the distressed little Owl resting on his knee.  

“Athene Noctua or Little Owl” Sherlock smirked. “How apropos for her”. 

John growled at his Sentinel without removing his attention from the prone policeman. “Not now Sherlock, he’s still too close” 

Lestrade grimaced at John, but the guide was right. Lestrade pulled it back, painfully, inch by damn inch because he wasn’t going to go feral now, he needed to be aware and cognisant. He would save the feral shit for fucking Moriarty when he got his hands on him. On his Grand’Mere’s soul, he was going to fucking the shred that bastard’s mind for him, then he would bury him and make sure he stayed buried this time.

John was murmuring gently to him as he continued to scan him empathically. Jesus wept his head hurt. He was too old to drop like a damn stone, he was just grateful it had been carpet not concrete! 

“Thanks” he offered gruffly to all of them as he tried to rise from the embarrassing position of being in Mycroft’s lap. However that was not part of Mycroft’s agenda. “Stay still Gregory, we have more to tell you.” He ordered sternly but those long elegant fingers continued to stroke gently and calmly through Lestrade’s hair

Before Greg could work up the anger to tell him to piss off, Sherlock dropped to his knees beside him, silver eyes grim and focussed. Greg’s heart sank. 

“It’s Molly Lestrade, Moriarty has taken Molly, she is in grave danger and she is your Sentinel”

“Carl Powers, that bloody psycho is obsessed with Carl Powers why? Everything always goes back to Carl Powers” John muttered as he gave Greg another cup of tea. The Holmes brothers were alternatively texting or muttering comments to each other that didn’t seem to need a response. John was fed up of watching them.  

He had more important things to worry about. Greg was still very pale and his heart rate was only just returning to normal. John was keeping a medical as well as an empathic weather eye on him. Molly’s screams had taken Lestrade out. It was just as well he hadn’t heard that sick sadistic bastard threaten her or the poor git would tear London apart. The mention of Mary had nearly driven John insane and he wasn’t sure how Sherlock was still in the flat and not ouy tracking their sentinel wife down. Mary must have felt their upset because a text had appeared within seconds for the pair of them reassuring them that she was safe and on her way home. 

But Greg, he was a cause for concern. It was only their combined empathic, Sentinel powered shielding and logic that that was actually keeping him in the flat.

John was sure that Greg knew Mycroft and Sherlock were his best bet for finding Molly, but there was only so much logic could do against instinct and Greg despite his status as Omega, the stubborn thick headed bastard was one of the strongest guide’s John had ever come across. Even though he probably only used about ten percent of his abilities.  

They really didn’t need an armed and feral guide roaring through London looking for the zombie twat. Omega or not.

So tea and calm were of the utmost importance. Christ if John wasn’t careful he was going to turn into a magic mushroom munching Brit version of Blair Sandburg.  

At least he was serving proper tea not that herbal shite Blair had the temerity to promote every time he spoke at a Guide conference. And hadn’t John nearly laughed his tits off with dark humour when he had been ordered to the first one by his Commanding Officer in Kandahar. He had just spent the day patching up his unit after a gun fight when he was informed had been selected to attend the Conference on “Balancing the harmonics of the Psionic aether with the burdens of daily living for the Guides and Sentinels” 

He had only just avoided a court martial when he told said Commanding Officer, that the only harmonic balancing he wanted to do right then was when his weapon discharged into the bollocks of the bastards who had ambushed them.

He had been flown to Nepal where the first international conference was being held still in his dusty sweaty desert kit still fully armed and stood there amongst the cotton clad bunch of pretty lambs like a hungry angry exhausted wolf.

Blair Sandburg had taken one look at him, given a full body wince, smiled sympathetically and then handed him a tea that tasted like par boiled dandelions. John had avoided pulling out his gun by a hairs breath and the warning scowl that came his way from the man’s Sentinel. But the Sentinel had redeemed himself. Ellison had taken him out to get drunk on the local moonshine that very night. He suffered that hangover for the full three days of the conference whilst Blair had smirked, openly. 

Lestrade frowned up at him, “John, I don’t actually give a shit about that poor little sod Carl Powers right now, my priority is Molly” the words were nearly snarled at the end and John shoved the mug of tea towards the policeman’s mouth with an unimpressed scowled. 

“Of course she is Gregory” Mycroft soothed “as she is ours. We just need to explore every avenue as you are well aware” 

“Seriously Mycroft, Carl Powers, died in a swimming pool.  Moriarty strapped the bomb on John at the swimming pool. Sherlock you had your first face to face confrontation at the swimming pool. The maniac has got some sort of weird fascination for that damn swimming pool so the least we can do is check it out. Especially since you won’t let me hear the rest of the recording.” Lestrade’s impatient fury was evident in every word. 

“There was the sound of water lapping against something” Mycroft offered calmly.

“Well then there is a good chance she’s at the damn pool all trussed up while we are debating it” and Greg’s hands were thrown wide in exasperation. 

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at him, faint surprise on his face but before he could utter a word, Greg grumbled, “Well it’s a bit obvious even for a dull minded copper Sherlock” 

“Which is why Lestrade, I do not believe that’s where he has her” Sherlock sniped back at him “It’s too easy, unless it’s a distraction for something else he as planned” 

To everyone’s surprise even his own, it was John who contradicted Sherlock. “He doesn’t know you are a Sentinel” he said wide eyed as realisation hit. “What are you on about John?” Sherlock answered dismissively but Mycroft spoke over the top of him “Of course, of course, John you are correct. He is not aware of Sherlock’s current status”

“Mycroft” Sherlock snarled at the interruption. John turned to him with a sarcastic grin “Don’t you see” the emphasis on the verb was obvious “you came online during the fall but he didn’t know. He was too busy playing dead. We haven’t made it public, he knows about Mary and I, he probably thinks we are in a kinky triad with a mundane” the wicked glee in his guide’s voice almost made him smile despite the earlier insult. “He doesn’t know so he didn’t bother editing the recording, he assumed you would dismiss it out of hand because it was too obvious, bluff and double bluff”

Sherlock’s silver eyes bored into the earnest ones of his guide. He smiled slowly and purred “My conductor of light” 

Mycroft raised one eyebrow, Lestrade knew that was his equivalent of rolling his eyes. But this was taking too damn long. He couldn’t wait any longer. He had a lead and he was going to follow it.  

“Bollocks to it, it’s the only thing we’ve got at the moment and I am off to that swimming pool, you can worry about damn distractions, kinky triads and double bluffs to your hearts content, I’m going to find my bloody guide”

Lestrade took off out of the room like a bat out of hell with two startled Sentinels following him and another long suffering Guide.

 

The madman’s words ringing in her ears had nearly brought on a panic attack. It was too much, all too much she was going out of her mind. He was torturing her with sounds, and lights and smell, and that awful taste. She was going to die in a transparent coffin, crushed by the weight of the water beating at the sides or run out of oxygen or pecked to death by a persistent baby owl… What? 

Molly opened her eyes to see an owl sitting on her chest and peering at her with its head bent sideways. It was the smallest owl she had ever seen. Now she was literally going insane. 

The Owl gave a little raspy screech of disapproval and lightly nipped her nose.

“Roxy, your name is Roxy” Molly murmured in wonder and the little bird preened, smug satisfaction pouring off it. For precious minutes the bird distracted Molly from her terror. The patterns on his feathers were so fascinating she could stare at them for ever. Another nip, this time on her ear and harder.  She flinched and the encroaching darkness slid away. 

Relief from the terror allowed her to make the connections she had missed or ignored in her fear, the sensory overload, the missing time, the bird sitting on her chest. Dear God she was coming on line.

Not only was she buried alive in a watery grave but she was coming online. She had been tested when she left primary school just like every other kid, but the genetic trace was so small as to be irrelevant.

She had been declared mundane, given a health booklet about what to do in the one in a million chance that she came online, picked a pretty pink bravery sticker with an owl which surprised both herself and her Mum because she liked kittens, had her favourite meal for tea in a café with her Mum and then proceeded to forget all about it until she had met Sherlock, John and Greg Lestrade.

Sherlock had felt “right” to her somehow and she had made a complete numpty of herself around him, like a teenager with a crush. She just really liked the feeling as if they were both part of something bigger but without knowing what it was. John’s presence had both soothed and warned her off until Sherlock had finally come back to life and he was John’s Sentinel. 

Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade was so out of her league that she could only smile shyly at him. He had always been so kind to her and her heart always fluttered that little bit faster when he was around. She had steeled herself to ask him out for a coffee resolutely ignoring the disaster that had been with Sherlock, when she heard him telling John about his ex-wife. She had put that little pipe dream away and concentrated on being pleasant and professional. 

She was a Sentinel. Panic once again raced through her veins plunging her back into chaos until abruptly she was calm again as something furry wound itself around her freezing feet. 

Intense joy filled her until she thought her skin was going to burst from it. Her guide. Her guide was with her. She could feel him in her very soul and abruptly her senses began to level out. “Please stay, please, please” she begged. The animal scampered up her body, making an odd chittering noise as if trying to sooth her, nuzzled lovingly against her neck until little paws turned her face towards him and she finally realised it was an otter. They stared at each other, the name Gunner popped into her head and then with one last pat to her face, he disappeared. It broke her heart and tears streamed from her eyes. 

Molly didn’t know how long she was in that box, in and out of a zone with just her owl for company but she came back to consciousness at one point hearing her name being called with persistent determined calm. 

“Molly, Molly Hooper, Molly, Molly” in the end she responded just to get the voice to shut up. “Yes” she groaned, concentrating on the voice made her head pound again.

“Molly, I have started to drain the pool but we don’t have a lot of time and it will take too long.” the voice continued and finally Molly had enough clarity of thought to recognise the voice. 

“Mary? Mary is that you?” Molly asked in confusion, “Yes Molly, now listen, I can get in the pool and take the lid off but you have to hold your breath because the water will be coming in while I am doing it and I might even need to pop back up to the surface to get more air. But we have to get you out of here Molly before that bastard and his henchmen get back” 

“Mary, it’s too dangerous for you and the baby” Molly objected, sickening fear pooling in her stomach at the thought of the risk to them both. 

“I’ll be fine Molly, now do as I say we need to get you out of here” Mary dismissed her concerns out of hand. 

Intense rage flooded Molly’s body, no she couldn’t allow that to happen, she had to protect Mary and the baby. The next thing she knew her hands were free and pressing at the weakest joints of the box. The pounding noise was no longer in her head. It was her feet kicking ferociously at the area around the air pump. Cold water began to seep in from the cracks she was creating but she didn’t care. She had to protect Mary. She had to protect Mary. She had to protect Mary. She had to protect Mary. She had to protect Mary.

The flood of cold water caused her to gasp for air and one last focused shove had the lid give enough for her to struggle out of the rapidly flooding box and into the main swimming pool.  

She would never remember how she got to the side of the pool or out of it. She was focused on the female figure waiting for her. Her senses were desperately trying to determine if there was any more danger for the pregnant woman. 

Mary watched Molly’s escape with well-hidden satisfaction. Mrs Hudson had told her about the finding of the trainer, the recording and Lestrade’s collapse when she had rung, and she had gone with her gut.

She may have been out of the business for a little while but she had been damn good whilst she was in it. She had survived to tell the tale after all. So whilst her darling overprotective idiot partners were still hashing out what they found she had made her way to the pool. She had told Mrs H to let them know if they hadn’t left the flat heading in the pools direction within twenty minutes of Lestrade’s awakening. She knew they would be on their way soon.

She had also known she had no way of releasing Molly from her watery coffin herself. The empty building had to be a trap. That zombie psycho was watching all this somehow. And of course he was going to use her to get to Sherlock and John.  

She knew as soon as she entered the building that there was a Sentinel in distress coming on line, and that it was Molly. She had needed Molly’s feral instincts to kick in, and rescue herself. They didn’t have the time to wait for the boys. 

Molly stood in front of her, soaked, hair hanging like rat’s tails, half naked, in a pink cotton demure bra and knickers set that thank god were not transparent because of the water. 

Mary really needed to take poor Molly out shopping one of these day, but she was sure Lestrade wouldn’t care. Hmmm Molly was so lucky, the silver fox was gorgeous, nearly as tempting as her boys. Mary quickly brought her mind back to more pertinent things. There were goosebumps on poor Molly’s goosebumps and she was shivering but the expression on her face promised dire retribution to anyone who came between her and Mary. 

She put a gentle hand on the new Sentinel, and Molly finally crumpled against her in total exhaustion as she led her into the changing rooms at the back of the building which she knew lead to the exit. Molly’s shivering was increasing but they didn’t have the luxury of time to try to find any clothes. Mary had a coat in the car she could cover Molly with. She needed to get Molly away from this bloody place right now.

Mary was so regretting allowing John to confiscate her gun. Her senses were playing up because of the pregnancy but she was sure someone else was in there with them. 

The mocking sing song voice had Mary carefully positioning a slumped Molly onto the changing room wooden benches before she moved away from the zoned Sentinel so that the bastard Moriarty was focused on only her. 

“Mrs Watson, how delightful to finally meet you. Not an unhoped for surprise. It was either you or the good doctor I was banking on turning up.” The gleeful smile on that infamous face made her want to punch him. But she let him carry on speaking trying to buy some time. Her bonded partners would be here soon. And the criminal mastermind did like to hear himself speak even when he wasn’t waving a gun around.  

“This was what I wanted, I said I would tear the heart out him if he didn’t do what I told him to. Naughty, naughty Sherlock, circumventing my plans” Then he screamed with rage “ He was supposed to be DEAD”, the anger disappeared as if it had never existed and the mocking smirk was back. Dear God the man was creepy.

“Sherlock will lose you, the baby, that pathetic guide, his big brother, sweet old Mrs Hudson and Detective Inspector Lestrade, one after the other and I am going to watch his pretty face every time he finds one of you. ” 

Mary kept her attention on him but out of the corner of her eye she saw Molly raise her head and there was nothing human on her face.

“You forgot about Molly” Mary said calmly “Darlin’ everyone forgets about Molly. Poor sad little Molly Hooper.” He dismissed that with a wave of the gun in his hand. “Oh one last thing being a Sentinel won’t save you or the baby” he grinned at her as he finally stopped waving the gun around and aimed it at her stomach. For a second terror made her want to vomit and curl over to protect her bump but she wouldn’t give him the damn satisfaction. Her eyes flickered to Molly and suddenly Mary gave a chuckle. 

Moriarty raised his eyebrows with faint surprise but before he could say anything, Mary beat him to it. 

“I’m not the Sentinel you have to worry about Jimmy love” the predatory gleam and sudden lack of fear gave him pause while he tried to work out permutations then he decided she was just being annoying, he shrugged indifferently.

“Sherlock will only call in Mycroft if he’s desperate and he doesn’t even know you are gone yet” came the carefree answer.

“Oh Jimmy, Jim Jim, who said I was talking about Mycroft” Mary imitated his sing song intonation perfectly. 

“There’s a little oddity that’s rarely known outside of the S&G community regarding female sentinels.” She began to lecture “threaten or attack a pregnant woman and they go feral. Get out of jail free card because they rarely leave the miscreant alive.” She stared at him without blinking as if challenging him to work it out, 

A small frown began to form on Moriarty’s face. “You’re not feral Mrs Watson” he mocked but the satisfied grin only grew wider on Mary’s face “I’m not” she agreed willingly, “but she is”. He suddenly felt someone looming up behind him. 

There was a sharp snapping noise and the body dropped to the floor, eyes wide with disbelief and head flopping at the wrong angle. 

The last thing Moriarty ever heard was “That was a bit quicker and cleaner than usual for a feral Molly love” and Molly’s soft unconcerned response “I take bodies apart for a living Mary, it can get very boring and I really didn’t want to get any blood on me without my lab coat”

 

Sherlock stared in disbelief at the scene in front of him Moriarty was dead, by Molly’s hand?

He and Mycroft had heard what was happening as they rushed into the building. He was furious at Mary for risking herself and the baby but that was subsumed beneath this strange feeling of loss. Bah emotions were impossible unless he was dealing with John and Mary. But still he looked up instinctively at his big brother who had helped him navigate the strange seas that were his emotional responses since he had been a child. If he didn’t know better even Mycroft looked rather stunned. 

Then John slapped him on the back of his head and pushed him towards their pregnant wife, who was leaning against the lockers bending forward slightly and it sounded like she was panting. 

Lestrade was right behind them as they moved closer to the two female sentinels, but they all stopped when a low guttural growl warned them off. 

“Molly” John sent soothing calm towards the small figure standing in front of his wife. “Molly you are both safe now, but I need to check on Mary, please Molly” his guide voice was gentle but determined as he took another step forward. The growl came again, harder this time, less of a warning more of a promise.  Mary gave a pained smile at her worried guide “Not a good idea John darling, she’s removed one threat to me and she’s still feral” 

“Dr Hooper shouldn’t still be feral, especially since your bonded mates are here Mary, she doesn’t need to protect you now” Mycroft pronounced solemnly as if his words would magically resolve the situation. 

Mary rolled her eyes at him in affectionate exasperation “The threat is still real to her because I’m in labour Mycroft” she almost growled at him as she took another deep panting breath, then she stuttered out “Lestrade, you need to distract her” 

John and Sherlock had gone a shade paler, then Sherlock’s eyes blanked with rage. Another Sentinel was keeping him from his mate. He began to growl and stalk forward. 

“Fuck a flying duck Sherlock don’t you dare” Mary called out in real alarm. John had dropped him to the floor and was sitting on him, his hands gripping that curly hair while he kept his sentinel focused on his face, sending waves of reassuring calm at him. 

“Greg” Mary called softly “Talk to your Sentinel, pull her back” 

Molly was so tired but she had to protect Mary. Deep inside her rational brain she knew these Sentinels and Guides were not a real threat but Mary was having the baby, she couldn’t take any chances. 

She could hear her owl make that odd rasping noise again but she couldn’t see where Roxy had gone until Gunner was sitting unconcernedly on her shoulder. “For a spirit animal you are a chunky thing” she complained, but she began to feel better. The she heard the laugh, his laugh, her guide’s laugh and she swung her head round so fast it nearly dislodged the otter. 

There, Roxy was right there, sitting on a well-muscled arm which was held out courteously for the bird as if the guide was escorting her to a meal. She followed the arm back up to the wide shoulders and then the most beautiful face in the world topped off by short salt and pepper hair. He was smiling at her as if she was the most important person in his world. She hadn’t been important to anyone like that since her Dad died. 

All the rigid tension, anger and need to protect fled her system at the sight of that smile. She slid less than gracefully down the lockers all the while staring at that wonderful smile until she sat on the floor and her eyes closed.

 

Assistant Director Partington smiled smugly at Lestrade as he denied him entrance to the medical wing of the S&C centre at Kensington. “Really Detective Inspector, unless you have a warrant you are not permitted entry”. 

Greg glared at the bastard “My Sentinel” he snarled but he was interrupted smoothly “Your Sentinel Lestrade? I believe you were declared Omega were you not, so you have no rights to enter the centre even if you suddenly have found a Sentinel which I seriously doubt” 

The irritating prat continued, but before Greg could land a punch, Mycroft’s unimpressed tone combined with the ice in his voice had the pair of them turning. 

“My dear Bruce, are you seriously committing bond interference because Gregory turned down your offer of a bond and preferred Omega status to the usual unbonded guide harassment?” 

Partington flushed and then paled, he drew himself up and stubbornly thrust out his chin “He’s an omega Mycroft” but Mycroft interrupted yet again, this time the smile was even colder and more formal “Alpha Sentinel Prime Holmes, Assistant Director” he corrected “It doesn’t matter if he is omega or not once he has found his Sentinel. In fact his Sentinel could also decide to become Omega as part of their bond. And Bruce, his Sentinel has already put down one threat today with a nicely snapped neck, what do you think his Sentinel will do to a threat to her Guide and bond?” There was a disconcerted pause before Partington stepped back and allowed them to pass. 

Greg offered Mycroft a cheeky grin and murmured “Damn Alpha Sentinel Prime Holmes that was hot”.  Mycroft snorted and then they both laughed as Sentinel Partington gave an odd choking noise. 

They moved into the waiting area where Sherlock had John in his arms, his chest to John’s back as they both stared at another door. 

John explained without taking his eyes off the door, “Mary insisted on speaking to Molly alone for a minute, which was about twenty minutes ago” he grumbled “and this big git won’t tell me what they are talking about.” His elbow hit his Sentinel’s gut but it wasn’t enough to get Sherlock to let him go. “I told you John there are white noise generators in the room, I can’t hear but presumably it’s about bonding with a male guide.” 

A nurse guide came out of the room and as the door swung open, the four men clearly heard Molly’s voice exclaim in shock “You put your what in their where now? You did that to the two of them?” and the door closed before they could hear Mary’s response. 

Lestrade thought he had never seen Sherlock and John look so red in the face before. But the most shocking thing of all was the way Mycroft lost it completely and howled with laughter. 

Sherlock and John went into Mary as soon as Molly exited the room. Her brown eyes zeroed in on Lestrade like a heat seeking missile but before she took a step forward Mycroft rose from his seat and cleared his throat.

“Sentinel Hooper, Guide Lestrade, a bonding suite has been prepared for you. I will escort you there so that there are no more interruptions” 

Molly blushed slightly, then squared her shoulders “Only if this is what Gre.. Guide Lestrade wants” she demurred, although her longing was apparent to the pair of them “I won’t force this on you because of my need. I know you became Omega because of Sentinels opportuning you” she continued bravely, the colour fluctuating in her cheeks. 

Greg stared at her in surprise, there she was dressed in a soft buttercream silk shift so as not to exacerbate her skin any further, brown hair curling around her face and determined doe eyes staring at him, whilst her limbs were trembling with the need to reach out to him. His beautiful amazing courageous little Sentinel who would rather suffer than make him do something he didn’t want to. 

He must have left the pause too long because he saw the heartbreak in her eyes as she slowly stepped back from him with a watery smile. Damn 

“Don’t be silly Love” he soothed as he stepped forward, “of course I want to, but I’m telling you now, I am not working in your damn lab cutting up bodies.” 

The sheer joy pouring off her as she stepped into his space, made him dizzy. Small soft hands brought his face lower as she whispered against his lips. 

“I am going to ravish you Gregory Lestrade, with your permission of course” 

“Not in the waiting area you aren’t” pronounced Mycroft sternly but Greg could feel the indulgent fond amusement he was hiding. 

 

Greg lay naked on the most luxurious and comfortable enormous bed. He couldn’t believe how fast his little Sentinel had disrobed him and then wrangled him on to the bed. His clothes had been discarded in the laundry shute, and she had removed the shift with desperate but graceful speed. God she was perfect. The light pearly sheen of arousal covered her skin, her nipples were standing up and begging for attention. He wanted to follow the line of her curves until he would know her body blindfolded. Christ they had to slow this down. 

He tried to project calm “It’s alright Love, I’m here you’ve got me My Sentinel, we have all the time in the world” but those soft brown eyes had been wide with desperate need.  She had targeted his neck and just breathed him in. Soft hands had fluttered over him as if they didn’t know what to touch next until he had pulled her towards him and kissed her. Soft lips opened for him, he licked and suckled and stroked his Sentinel’s sweet mouth until they both needed to come up for air. 

She was imprinting sight right now so he took his own sweet time studying her too until she crawled up the bed over his body so that she lay totally on top of him, skin to skin. He could feel her slick arousal over his groin. His cock became so hard it was painful. He was throbbing to the beat of her heart. He rocked his hips in instinctive reaction and she grinned with filthy delight at him. He did it again and she slowly rubbed herself against him until he was soaking wet with her juices. She took a deep breath and then moaned. Dear God he wasn’t going to survive this. The spike in his heart rate was so intense he thought he was going to pass out, and then she slid down on him taking him all the way inside her.

 “Come into me Guide” and she opened her body and mind to him. “My Sentinel mine” he growled possessively as he thrust up again and again until she screamed her satisfaction. 

Molly lay crumbled on top of him. Greg wasn’t sure he could actually feel his extremities any more but it was more than made up for by the warm loving pulse of the bond under his skin and in his mind.  He felt the smug renewed interest coming off his Sentinel and chuckled at her. “Darling I’m not that young any more, the spirit is willing but the flesh is weak. I have the dreaded refractory period now”. 

Her wicked laughter was ominous as she slid two fingers into his gasping mouth. He suckled those fingers instinctively and she groaned “Your mouth should be declared an illegal weapon” she whispered as she nipped at this throat. His mouth opened and let her fingers go as he remembered something that caused his gut to flutter with anxious excitement. 

“Molly what did Mary do to Sherlock and John?” 

Doe brown eyes stared straight into his own dark chocolate ones. She lent closer, licked across his lips once and then giggled. 

“You are about to find out my Guide”

 

The End.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should mention the following: 
> 
> Loo Brealey played a nurse in the BBC series Casualty. Her name was Roxy Bird.  
> When Rupert Graves was 16 he was a trainee clown called Tomato. He also supports Arsenal Football Club who are called the Gunners. 
> 
> No I am not sorry...... :)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Little Black Dress Rough Trade July 2016 challenge.  
> The idea of Molly as a Sentinel intrigued me. She is portrayed as a naive doormat but this is a woman who finished medical school without the support of any family to become a pathologist and cut up dead bodies every day in order to give their families closure.  
> And what better Guide to cherish such an unusual sentinel but Greg Lestrade, down to earth, kind, sexy who does not take any of the SGC's bullshit.  
> I also wanted to re balance the Sentinel world and address the fact that even though there are female Sentinels most stories have men as the hero blessed protectors and deus ex machina. ( I hold my hands up as my other two submissions are exactly that Lol).  
> Hope you enjoy. It was fun to take part.


End file.
